The Newcomer

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  No one moved. It was like everyone had frozen stiff while watching a man disappear into the woods on the bay horse. The man with the white spot on his head, the very one who seemed to have caused quite a commotion, was gone.

  The countess screamed at the British soldier to go after him. “Go! Go get him!”

  The British soldier remained stiffly on his horse and gave a brief shake of his head. “I cannot. The governor gave me orders to not leave your side, Countess.”

  Exasperated, the countess turned to her old butler with a cry. “Geh un holl mir mein Mann! Geh!” Go get my husband! Go! He looked at her helplessly, but she was insistent. She handed him his cane and he took it; his old, milky eyes in their saggy sockets gazed at it as if he thought it might turn into a horse and carriage.

  How in the world could the countess expect an old man to chase after a speeding horse? Felix almost laughed at the thought, but wisely for once, he hung back in silence.

  “I’ll get him back here.” Bairn started to unhook the carriage horse, but Anna stopped him.

  “Let him go.”

  Bairn looked at Anna, shocked. “But what he’s done to you. To the countess. ’Tis not right.”

  Anna had a distant expression on her face, one Felix couldn’t read. “Let him go.”

  Bairn slowed, then dropped his hands. For the longest time, everyone stood there quietly, as if their bodies felt too weighted down to move, eyes fixed on the deep woods.

  Then Felix had a fine idea. “Say, we’ll all feel better after we eat.”

  There was a great cry and show of tears from the countess when she learned that her husband had just married Anna, despite Bairn’s assurance that it held no legal status. Barbara led the woman up to the cabin to rest, and the older man who accompanied her followed behind, slow as molasses in January, carrying her bags. The British soldier followed along and stood guard outside the cabin door.

  “I just knew there was something fishy about the newcomer,” Maria said. “Right from the start. I always thought . . .” Her words trailed off as she peered at Anna. And then she reached over to hand her a handkerchief.

  Anna waved it off. Little good it would do her now. She swiped at the tears dripping down her cheeks. She couldn’t say what exactly she was crying over: the shock and joy at seeing Bairn and Felix again when she had thought they were dead. Or the utter humiliation of discovering Henrik was not whom she believed him to be. Who was he, really? She had no idea. A man who disappeared into the woods like that was a man who had reason to hide.

  Christian looked as baffled as Anna felt. “Rather extraordinary, really. Imagine that.”

  “I suppose he did have a certain winsome charm,” Maria conceded.

  “He was so comely,” Catrina said.

  “And don’t think he didn’t know it,” Maria added.

  Isaac and Christian unhooked the harnesses to take the horses to the pen. Maria started handing Felix and Catrina items from the wagon to take up to the cabin. Anna’s mind was still in a muddle, unsure of what to do next. She turned in the direction of the cabin as Bairn grabbed hold of her elbow. “Anna, please. Come with me a moment.”

  They started toward the fire pit, but her legs wouldn’t work right and she had to stop walking.

  “Darlin’.”

  She raised her head. He was looking down at her with such tenderness in his eyes. He spoke to her in English now, and she was grateful because Maria’s ever listening ears would not be able to understand them. “It was deplorable of me to leave y’. I regretted it the moment the ship left the dock. I should never have left.” He paused as he swallowed. “I ken I failed y’ miserably.”

  Somewhere an owl hooted. Dusk was coming.

  She glanced from his face down toward his hand, which had fixed itself to her sleeve.

  He let his hand drop. “Will y’ say nothin’?”

  She could say nothing at all, only look at him, and it was so wonderful to look at him. But it hurt as well. It hurt so much that she had to look away. Her throat was hot and tight, full of the things she wanted to say but couldn’t seem to express.

  “Why him? Of all men. Why such a scoundrel?”

  “I didn’t know he was a scoundrel.” The thought of Henrik Newman made her feel ill again. She had married him! She had believed his silky lies. What a fool she was.

  “I asked y’ to wait for me. How could y’ have married another man?”

  “We thought you were dead, Bairn. Dead! The newspaper said there were no survivors.”

  “And a scant four weeks later, yer marryin’ him? Y’ could not have mourned me any longer than a scant four weeks?” He took a step closer to her. “Anna, darlin’, did y’ love him? The way y’ loved me?”

  Tears pricked her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She hated to cry. Tears made her feel weak and she needed to be strong. “Bairn, I can’t talk about this with you. Not now. I need to sort it out for myself.”

  “I hoped you’d be more glad to see me.”

  She shook her head and the tears splattered. “What do you want me to say? That I’m glad you’re here, that you’re alive? Because I am. Truly, I am. But so much has happened here. We can barely catch our breath between one disaster after another. Bairn, your parents—”

  He touched her lips with his fingers. “Christian told me.” He glanced toward the woods. “They are not dead. Jacob Bauer would not die that easily. They are out there, somewhere, and I will find them.” He turned back to her. “I know, in my heart, that my father is not dead. But what I dinnae ken—and what I need to ken—is if y’ can forgive me?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Of course I do,” her voice rising, firming, the words coming from her heart like a prayer. How could he even think it possible that she could not forgive him?

  He took her hands in his. “Then, darlin’, cannae we find our way back to each other?”

  She looked him in the eyes, willing herself to remain immune to the pull of their deep gray depths. Did he really think he could return, without warning, out of the blue, and assume everything to be the way he wanted it to be? Her throat had been getting tighter and tighter, closing up on her, and she wasn’t sure she could answer him. She was trembling, as she did when she was very cold or very angry. Right now, it was both.

  She took a breath as deep as she could and let it out slowly. Back in control, she wrapped her shawl tightly around herself and said, “That, I don’t know,” in a voice almost too soft to hear.

  Jacob’s Cabin

  December 14, 1737

  The countess was a curiosity to Bairn. As much as she irritated him with her imperious, opinionated, often blunt ways, her lightning quick mood changes, and her endless tedious chatter, despite all that, he had to admit she was one of the comeliest girls he’d seen on either side of the Atlantic. Raven-black hair, deep violet-blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a slim little nose. Queenly, that’s what she was. He stood beside her carriage, waiting to help her get on.

  From the trees came the sough of wind. “It’s quite remarkable, this place,” the countess said, her face wistful as she surveyed the meadow ringed by red cedar, pitch pine, and white oak. An eagle soared on an updraft, hovering on the wind before peeling away toward the Blue Mountains. “Such wilderness. It stuns me. Words fail to capture it.”

  Bairn held the same opinion. No one in their right mind could fail to appreciate the beauty of this land. He understood why his father had chosen this place, close to God, far from civilization. It made a man feel as if all of creation was spread out before him. A spring-fed creek nearby for year-round fishing. Otter, beaver, and muskrat for the fur trade. Skies filled with fowl. It was a fine place. “Yer welcome to remain with us.” He meant it, but he didn’t expect her to accept. She did not belong here, not in the wilderness, not with them.

  “Thank you, but we must carry on to Germantown. I feel quite certain that’s where Karl will be.” And it was true, east was the direction he had headed.


  Karl. Karl Henrik Neumann. Anglicized, like so many names, at the Philadelphia Court House to Henrik Newman.

  The countess could not be dissuaded from leaving in the morning, convinced she was close on the trail of her husband, like a determined dog on the scent of a fox. She might be petite, but she was doughty. And remarkably insistent.

  Maria had woken at dawn to refresh the fire and fry last night’s potatoes for a tasty breakfast. She put together a dinner packet of salt pork, biscuits, and dried apples for the countess, her manservant, and the grave soldier as Bairn and Felix harnessed the horse to the carriage.

  Bairn held the countess’s offered hand lightly—he might have captured a small bird. She had one boot raised on the iron footplate as a question stopped her.

  “Why do you pursue him?”

  Bairn’s head whipped around to see Anna approach the carriage.

  Slowly the countess turned her head to look at her, as if she had not noticed her before that moment. Perhaps it was true, in a way, for Anna had gone straight to the loft yesterday afternoon, skipping supper.

  “The rule is that nobility always speaks first,” Felix whispered in a loud voice. “Trust me on that.”

  Anna ignored him and persisted, moving closer to the countess. “Why?” she repeated, looking only at the countess. “Why do you want to find him?”

  A little malicious smile flickered on the countess’s mouth, and a trace of color rose under her skin.

  Bairn didn’t think the countess would answer, but she did. “Foolish girl, you of all people should understand.” Her mouth curled a little. “I love him. And he’s mine.” She turned away abruptly, and Bairn helped her climb into the carriage.

  No sooner had the countess and her manservant started on their way, British soldier trailing behind, that Felix stood in front of him, hands on his hips. “So then, what’s our plan to find Mem and Papa?”

  “I am giving that matter serious thought, Felix. For now, first things first.”

  “Why isn’t finding Mem and Papa the first thing?”

  “Because I am certain they would have found some kind of shelter to last the winter months.” It was a strange thing, not to have any sign, not any word of their whereabouts. Even in a vast wilderness, news traveled. Even on the ocean, news traveled.

  First things first was . . . Anna.

  “We need to talk,” he said to her. But she wasn’t listening. She had caught sight of something off in the distance and was peering at the woods.

  She did not stop to explain, but set out with a quick and confident step. She was walking so fast she had to lift the skirts of her dress above her ankles. As Bairn followed behind, he couldn’t help but notice how lovely those ankles were.

  She stopped down by the creek and turned in a slow circle, but he saw nothing unusual. A thicket of bayberry shrubs directly behind them rustled with activity and a young cottontail scrambled from beneath.

  “What are you lookin’ for?” Bairn said.

  “I thought . . . I saw something. A red something.”

  The water bent slightly in the breath of the wind, but there was nothing at the water’s edge.

  “What was it?”

  Her eyes went round. “Not what. Who.” She pointed behind him to an old Indian who had emerged from behind a tree.

  Bairn turned to stare at the Indian, wondering just what he wanted of them. The Indian stared back at Bairn, watching him carefully, purposefully.

  In the Indian’s arms was the red Mutza. He walked slowly up to Bairn and held it out to him.

  Bairn took the coat from him. “My father’s coat. Where did y’ find this?”

  The old Indian’s watery eyes, vague and trembling, creased in a slight smile, as if giving Bairn a message though he didn’t say a word. He stepped away, then slipped into the woods.

  Bairn started to follow, but Anna called him back. “I don’t think he wants you to follow.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I saw him once before, wearing your father’s coat. He came into the cabin and looked around as if he had something very specific on his mind. He left as suddenly as he came, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  Bairn looked at the coat in his arms. He thought of that slight smile in the Indian’s eyes. “My father, he is not dead.”

  She put a hand on the coat. “We don’t know anything for sure. All that we do know is that the Indian knew your father.”

  “Then why did he come here to return it? How would the Indian have known I was Jacob’s son unless he’d been told to look for me?” His heart started to race. “There’s a reason this coat has been returned.” He looked inside it, shook it, then ran a hand along the bottom hem. Then he reached into his boot and pulled out his knife. “There’s something in there.”

  Bairn slit the threads that held the seam together. He reached his hand under the coat’s lining and pulled out papers. He handed the coat and knife to Anna and opened the papers.

  “What are they?”

  “That sly old dog.”

  “Who?”

  “My father.” Bairn leafed through them, then looked at her. “These are Jacob Bauer’s land warrants.”

  Jacob’s Cabin

  January 5, 1738

  Christmas came and went, quietly and solemnly celebrated, as was the custom of the church of Ixheim. Nature gave its own rowdy celebration: six inches of snow fell on Christmas Day.

  But as the days passed, to Bairn’s disappointment, Anna was having naught to do with him. She was polite but distant, welcoming but cool. She said she needed time to sort things through.

  And what was there to sort through? She’d been rescued from a loveless marriage to a lying bigamist.

  When Bairn told her as much, she gave him a look not dissimilar to those often given to Felix. And then she said, quite crisply and definitively, that she had not asked for his opinion, and that she needed time without it.

  Time. It was a funny thing. Time could be short, and it often was. But there was always time enough for the important things. That was true too. Right now, time was the one thing Bairn had to give Anna. It was the only thing he could offer to prove to her that he was not going to leave again.

  Now that the land warrants were in hand, he turned his attention to the settlement, if you could call it that. He was shocked by what little progress had occurred at the settlement over the last few months, especially with the blessing of a mild winter. It was time to move forward, together.

  On the table made of trunks, Bairn laid out the deerskin on which he had drawn a map of the area. After examining the land warrants and surveying the land, he decided each family would choose lots of eighty rods sprawling out from Jacob’s cabin, land to build their permanent homes.

  Bairn had to admit that his father had made a fine choice. Most of the building materials to erect cabins would be available right on the land. Ten thousand acres of rich, loamy soil; gently sloping hillsides covered with eastern hardwoods—oaks, maple, hickory, elm, cherry, beech, poplar, and the hardy chestnut.

  Best of all, there was walnut. That was Bairn’s favored wood—for making furniture as well as cabins. It hewed well and planed easily, was lighter to handle than most other hardwoods, and the wood most resistant to rot.

  After each family had chosen a tract of land and found a suitable clearing for a building site, it was time to work together to construct the log cabins. Eventually, they would build more substantial houses, with root cellars below and a large chimney in the center, but for now, crude bark-covered log cabins would suffice. In the spring, they would help each other clear twenty acres or so for fields. But for now, everyone’s efforts went to building cabins. One by one.

  The first cabin to be built was for Christian and Maria, Bairn announced. They deserved it, and no one objected. It pleased Maria mightily to be singled out.

  Each day, the men set to work finding fallen logs and felling trees. Bairn showed the men how to chop off the bark around the middle
of the trunks of suitable trees. As soon as spring arrived and the sap started flowing, the trees would soon die and drop on their own accord. Those logs could be used for other cabins.

  The men labored from dawn to dusk until their muscles ached and their hands were raw. The horses dragged logs to a cabin site, then the logs were notched, rolled into place, and fitted tight with wooden pegs. “Rolling up the walls,” Bairn called it. Each person had tasks to do: Peter notched logs. Anna mixed wet clay, grass, and lime to fill in the cracks between the logs. Barbara and Maria wove harvested meadow hay to provide a temporary thatched roof. Felix and Catrina hunted for stones in the meadow to build a fireplace. Bairn built sturdy carts to haul the stones to the construction site.

  Within a few short weeks, men and women working side by side, and with accommodating weather, the first cabin was completed. Bairn knew that the first cabin would take the longest, the one they’d made their most mistakes on. They’d figured out a few tricks as they went. All in all, it was a solid cabin, snug and watertight.

  When moving day came, everyone helped unload the wagon and settle Maria and Christian and Catrina into their new home. And then the celebration began. Back at Jacob’s cabin, a shared meal was prepared over a blazing fire in the pit: they speared rabbits and turkeys onto long sticks and arranged them over the flames.

  Bairn had never seen Maria Müller look quite so pleased.

  And then a very unexpected visitor arrived.

  25

  Jacob’s Cabin

  January 31, 1738

  A light snow was falling, large soft flakes that covered the ground like a dusting of confectioners’ sugar. Anna and Felix were outside, watching Felix’s dog try to catch flakes in the air and look ridiculous trying, when suddenly the dog stopped, pricked his ears, and made a dash down the path, barking as he went. A warning—someone was approaching. Felix ran after him to call him back, then stopped and pivoted.

  “Judas Iscariot!” he cried. “It’s the printer from Philadelphia!”

  “Felix! Don’t curse.”